Hello
by evieeden
Summary: An unexpected phone call makes Natasha reassess her future. Advent fic for 8th December.


**Happy 8** **th** **December. Yes, I went there. I Adele'd this fic. It was the perfect song for the letter. Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading it and thanks for sticking with me. As always, I own nothing to do with Marvel.**

 **H: Hello - Adele**

 **Hello**

Her phone rang unexpectedly in the middle of training one day, or 'team bonding' as Stark liked to call it. At one end of the mocked-up street in the large gym Stark had constructed were Jane and Helen – the 'hostages' they needed to rescue at the end – completely oblivious to the fighting that was going on around them, their heads bent together over a tablet as they heatedly discussed a piece of research Selvig had unearthed. At the other end of the gym, Rhodey and Tony, acting as mindless robots – and yes, everyone was still a little bitter about Ultron – were taking on Wanda, Sam and Thor. She, Clint and Cap had been analysing the fight for weaknesses – she and Cap from near the door and Clint from up in his nest in the rafters.

When the ringtone sounded out loudly through the echoing room, everyone stopped so fast it was almost comical. A quick glare had them resuming their fight again, but she noticed that she now had Clint and Steve's full attention.

No-one had her phone number. No-one outside the Avengers, Coulson and Fury anyway.

Coulson had checked in yesterday and Fury was currently bunking down in one of Maria Hill's safe houses.

She pulled it out of her pocket and checked the screen. Unknown number.

It had to be Fury then. He had said that he would call if he could tap into a secure line.

Shrugging at Cap, she answered. "Romanov."

There was silence on the other end. She frowned.

"Fury?"

Nothing.

She moved to hang up and a split second before her thumb disconnected the call, a voice crackled through the line.

"Natasha."

She stilled, body and mind temporarily frozen in place. All the noise of the battle in the room seemed to fade out and there was nothing but white noise thudding in her ears.

Every emotion she'd worked so hard to push back threatened to surge to the fore, overwhelming her with its intensity and she had to fight to maintain her usual calmly neutral expression.

She had tells though, despite her best efforts, and she knew that Cap and Clint knew her well enough to read them easily.

Next to her, Steve shifted towards her and her periphery senses detected Clint sliding down a rope from the rafters that had appeared out of nowhere. The others, detecting something new happening, quietened.

She needed to get out of there before they started asking questions.

Slipping out quickly, she shut the door on the curious eyes behind her, and leaned against it, even as she felt Clint try the handle (it would be Clint, it was always Clint).

"Natasha? Are you there?" the voice spoke again.

She clamped her hand over her mouth so the person on the call couldn't hear the sharp sob that nearly escaped her. He was going to hang up though unless she answered.

"Bruce…" She didn't know what else there was to say.

There was another long pause.

She realised that it would be up to her to break it. Dragging out every inch of training she had ever had to keep her voice even.

"Are you… How are you? Are you safe?"

Okay, so that wasn't as cool and calm as she was hoping, but Natasha supposed it was the best she could do.

"I'm safe." She was oddly gratified to hear the slight wobble in his voice too. "I'm… Well, I'm safe. Managed to keep off the radar of any interested parties. I'm back to treating the locals again."

"You seemed to enjoy it last time," she commented. It felt so strange to her to be having this conversation, like it was a just a few weeks since they had last spoken rather than three years.

"I did," he agreed and then paused. "There's no miniature spies waiting here to lure me onto missions."

Natasha found herself laughing softly at the reminder of how they had met. "So you think," she gently mocked.

"So I think," he echoed.

Silence fell over the line again, but this time it was less awkward than previously. Natasha finally felt it was safe enough to move. Besides, if she knew her friend like she did, she wouldn't be surprised if Clint wasn't now in the vents directly overhead the corridor. Pressing the phone closer to her ear, she began to walk down towards her quarters.

As much as she wanted to remain aloof, her curiosity got the better of her.

"Do you need me?"

"What?" He sounded startled.

"Is that why you called?" she asked. "Because you need us?"

She heard a soft chuckle down the other end of the line and knew immediately that he hadn't called because the Avengers were needed. No, this was personal. She would also have been willing to lay a hundred on the odds of him using this silence to awkwardly fiddle with his glasses as he struggled with what to say.

"No," he confirmed her theory. He took a deep breath. Somewhere in the distance behind him, a car horn blew. "I'm not calling about that." Another pause. "I guess… Natasha…"

She closed the door to her rooms behind her and sank down to the floor, her back pressed to the exit. "Yes?"

He sighed. "I guess what I'm trying to say is… I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" She kept her voice neutral. It took more effort than she expected.

"Yes," he replied simply. "I'm sorry for the way I left after Ultron and the hurt I caused you. I never wanted that, especially when you were so open for me."

As usual, her training enabled her to pick out what he wasn't saying.

"But you're not sorry that you left."

He paused, then, "No. I'm sorry."

Natasha thought about what he was saying. It was too late for them; it had always been too late for them. That didn't mean she didn't appreciate his apology though or offer him something in return.

"Thank you… for telling me that," she said softly. "I appreciate it."

Silence fell – this time it was comfortable. This time it was goodbye – a proper goodbye. She raised a shaky hand up to her face and realised that her cheeks were damp.

Bruce's shaky voice came over the line again. "I have no right to ask this, but are you…?"

"Yes," she cut him off before he could finish the question. "I'm good."

"Good," he breathed.

She thought about Steve - his concern in the training room, the care he took with her, his respect, and a million more little things he did that could become something someday.

"Good," he repeated himself.

Minutes passed, and then Natasha spoke, putting the past back where it belonged, closing a door that had never really opened, but had held such possibilities for her at one point.

"Take care of yourself, Bruce. Remember to call if you need us…any of us."

"I'll remember," he reassured her. "Take care, Natasha."

He was the one to disconnect the call first. Seconds later, Clint dropped out of a panel in the ceiling overhead and sat next to her, one arm slung over her shoulders.

She sat still, silently, gathering up the pieces of herself together again, only this time it felt different, like a sliver in her soul had been finally patched over again.

She allowed herself twenty minutes to mourn, twenty minutes to heal, and then she stood back up, holding out a hand to drag her partner from his slumped position.

"Right. Let's go to work."


End file.
